


Supernatural Delight

by MythosMeta



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dancer Hubert, Fluff, M/M, gets a little suggestive tho, hes cute because i said so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22727710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythosMeta/pseuds/MythosMeta
Summary: what is UP im sleepy, i didnt proofread, i got my hat on backwards and im ready to partypeople who are horny for hubie come get yall juice and happy v day fellow linbertsdancer hubert RIGHTS
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	Supernatural Delight

This was hardly the first time Linhardt found himself creeping around in the dark, hunting Church-hidden secrets. 

But it _is_ the only time he’s run into Hubert in the shadow of the cathedral. Even more notable, Linhardt finally gets to watch him practice his dancing. With Hubert’s reserved ways, he doubts many others get to boast that knowledge.

He’s pretty in the Dancer’s garb. Everyone is, but Hubert’s elegance was a bit surprising. Linhardt remembers Warping him around the battlefield, grabbing him by the arm to swing and toss him into the transportation glyph, seeing his graceful exit in the distance as he got a headstart on performing his spell. He was a glinting shadow, falling a short distance, sandalled-feet first with his arms extended behind him. Linhardt often thought of the Adrestian eagle, then, especially seeing the arm with the silk fabric flowing behind it. When he wasn’t stuck on how the maneuver blew his outer skirt back. The long, pale legs that the shorter, tighter skirt revealed… 

“Which of your fickle passions lead you down here?” Hubert’s sharp tone cuts into his reverie.

Busted. Damn. He was enjoying that line of thought.

“Passion, hm? Is that not what brought you here?”

“I am merely fulfilling my duty as our house’s Dancer. So the Professor had decreed, it seems.” He doesn't sound upset so much as confused that he still does this.

Linhardt shrugs. “Don’t let me keep you. I didn't see you if you didn't see me, and all that.”

“Usually I’d appreciate the discretion, but don’t escape just yet. I must know if you see others here often. Is this area not private?”

“Probably coincidence that we met. Something happen to your old place?”

Hubert’s face never moves much, but he appears almost dejected for a second. “Her Majesty has banned me from practicing routines in my quarters… after an incident. So, I’ve been trying to find an open area that won’t disturb anyone.”

He would like to know about that incident, but something else twinges at the back of his mind. “Disturb?”

Hubert just turns his head so his hair-curtained eye is facing him. 

Linhardt stifles a sigh. For a man so confident in his work, Hubert has awfully low self-esteem as a person. Time to do a little healing, he supposes.

“Is there room for one more?”

“Pardon?” 

He rolls his eyes. “May I cut in? How else shall I say it? Dance with me, Hubert.”

The momentary stun is quickly shaken off, replaced with defensive bite. “Would it not be _too much effort_ for your liking?”

“Hm. Ordinarily, yes. When I’m not... interested.” He keeps his face carefully unreadable, but weighs his gaze down with desire.

Hubert hesitates.

He keeps talking, luring. “Perhaps passion did bring me here. I avoid the unpleasant. And pursue things that could— feel good. As for you, well. ‘Any experience is worth having,’ isn’t that right?”

He endures the searching look until Hubert curiously extends his whole arm, palm down, like a noble lady waiting to be escorted to the floor. Or expecting a polite hand-kiss.

Linhardt stores that for later, and takes his hand, settling it on one shoulder. He takes the lead on a hunch, chancing laying hands on hips. Hubert must not mind because answering fingers slide under the fall of his hair to link at the back of his neck, dipping under the collar.

They start to dance, little more than the gentle sway of tides under the moon.

Linhardt waits for them to find a rhythm before he speaks up again. “You know, I don’t understand you hard-working types. But you do tend to inspire me.”

“You’re also a hemophobe. Considering my work, does that not… place me out-of-bounds for you?”

“Hubert,” He says in mock-offense. “I’m surprised at you. How can you speak of such bigotry while we’re here like this?”

Hubert gives him a flat look. For the joke and obvious sidestep. “Don’t be obtuse.”

Linhardt laughs in that low, tired way of his. “You’re so cute.”

“Nonsense—”

“It’s true. I thought so even at the Academy. I say ‘even’ but I think if people weren’t interested in you when you had longer hair, they were simply cowards. Cowards with no foresight.”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me once more. What do you find so appealing? If I might know. For my records, of course.”

“Of course. You really are a villain, making me do all this talking.” He rests his head on Hubert’s shoulder, his next words ghosting over his exposed neck. “Remember when you first ran a fever from working yourself to death? You weren’t hard to carry. Which was sort of worrisome, but holding you was also strangely nice.”

Hubert scoffs. “Hold _me?_ Might I remind, protecting is supposed to be my job.”

“Ah, but healing is mine. You wouldn’t blame me if you had seen yourself. Flushed and shivering, weakly batting at my chest as though you could stand on your own legs.”

Linhardt feels his shoulders tense beneath his cheek.

“You may stop reminiscing now. Someone might start to feel pathetic.”

“We all get sick. It’s just particularly sweet when it’s you.”

Hubert is quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, the faintly mocking tone is long gone. “Is this your roundabout way of saying you like taking care of me?”

“I wouldn’t do white magic if I didn’t prefer it. And I wouldn’t be dancing with you if I didn’t want to. I’m as simple in motive as your old investigation concluded.”

Finally, he’s wringed out one of those purposefully-deep chuckles. “Perhaps. Though, your talking around subjects leaves a little more honesty to be desired.”

Linhardt complains anyway, grumbling. “Must you continue the menacing act?”

“Who says it is an act?” He tries to loom, but Linhardt is quite tall himself, not to mention unimpressed.

“I do. I bet your regular laugh is soft. Like on that one school mission. Remember when you were talking about the new Demonic Beasts in the forest? You were feigning so much surprise and eagerness that your voice shot up about five octaves.” He has to laugh again, at that.

Hubert doesn’t respond, going pink in the ears.

Linhardt presses his thumbs into the bony hips, rubbing circles through the light cloth. It was meant to be comforting, but Hubert breathes in _hard_. He has to restrain himself from pressing up against him.

Clearly, a new tactic is needed. Linhardt is too lazy to pick up his head, though, so he noses under the choker and mouths an apologetic kiss to the stark veins at the base of his throat. The chords in Hubert’s neck jump in response. He takes a mental note. Physical affection: too sensitive. For now.

Hubert slows them to a stop and gathers himself to bluntly ask, “There. Is holding onto me still ‘nice’?”

He hums an affirmative, “Mhm. I was right. Feels good, huh?” Distantly, Linhardt knows his words are growing shorter, slurring together. He sounds like he’s already falling asleep on his feet.

Hubert shifts to mirror his position and secure him around the waist.

Drifting off, Linhardt’s fuzzy brain only just processes the thoughtful, “Yes… it does.”


End file.
